


The Room of Light

by SherlocksSister



Series: One Day at a Time For Ever and Ever [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angry John, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, John is a Saint, John's room, M/M, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Romance, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Sherlock's room, Sociopathic Sherlock, mutual masterbation, very sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7033474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlocksSister/pseuds/SherlocksSister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock visits John's Room in his Mind Palace to preserve an important first, and last, in his life. But how will John feel about this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Room of Light

Sherlock pulled the door firmly closed behind him and he turned the key. His mind was racing and he needed these few minutes to himself. He knew his behaviour would seem odd to John but since when had he appeared any differently? Now wasn’t the time to start worrying about how his behaviour appeared to his _friend_. Avoiding looking at his reflection in the mirror, he stood for a moment next to the glass shower door. It wasn’t ideal but he needed to get to his Mind Palace quickly to store all this new data and this had been the only way he could think of to be alone, cornered as he had been.

As he turned on the water, Sherlock began to gather his disparate thoughts, breathe more evenly and focus his enormous mind on the problem at hand. Standing in under the warm water, he walked in the front door of his Mind Palace. Usually a muted, evenly lit corridor in a warm, cream colour, today the walls of the entrance hall were broken up into patches with broken mirrors, catching his reflection and throwing it back to him in a series of glittering shards of colour and flashes of light.

He passed by the darkened alcove that held the door to the Basement, the metal gate to the Family room and started to climb the stairs, glancing up the four flights to the vaulted glass ceiling. He knew he needed to get there quickly, to capture this precious information tumbling around in his mind, to catalogue and store it for ever while it was still fresh and crystal clear.

Sherlock passed the steel door to the Armaments room on the first floor, up past the Morgue and Laboratory. He paused briefly at the door to the Bruise room, wondering should he step inside to lay down his newly learnt information on the creation of round bruises on living flesh. He decided to come back to it or, maybe, it would be better stored elsewhere. His hand ran lightly over the polished wooden hand rail and his feet made no sound on the thick damson carpet. He began to feel anxious as he continued to climb, he was taking too long, was going to forget something, something vital that he would need. He began to take the stairs two at a time, past the stained glass door to the Music Room and the warped, padlocked door of the Cocaine Room.

Finally he was at the only door on the fourth floor of his Mind Palace, highly polished wood with ornate carvings. He took out the small silver key he kept in his pocket and unlocked the room.

The room was filled with light from the huge floor to ceiling window, muted by a thin gauzy material that floated gently on a light breeze. This was Sherlock’s most precious room in his Mind Palace, the one where he kept all his memories of John. Kept tightly under lock and key he only visited this room when the darkness threatened to drown him.

Immediately to his left was a single bed, neatly made with a woollen blanket in a muted green. On the bed lay snapshots, all of the same person. They captured moments when John wasn’t looking; John in mid-flight as they ran down a lane after a suspect. John giving Molly a look from the corner of his eye as she looked at Sherlock. John’s head thrown back in laughter. Over the end of the bed was thrown a grey cable knit jumper.

Sherlock’s eyes skimmed over the other furniture in the room, the large desk with the emergency medical kit on it. Next to it lay John’s Sig Sauer P226R pistol. In front of the window was John’s chair and side table, with a steaming mug of tea resting on it. I am going to need some new furniture for this room now, thought Sherlock. Suddenly, an image flashed into his mind, his own hand resting on John’s naked shoulder. Then another came, unbidden, of John’s hands scrabbling his jumper off over his own head.

Dammit, focus man. He was only ever going to get one chance to do this, to lay down the memories of what had just happened between himself and John, his friend, his roommate, his… It was only then that Sherlock snapped his head around to stare at the cup of tea. That had most definitely not been there before, he had not put that in John’s Room.

Before he could consider the intrusion further, he was assaulted by an image of John, lying on Sherlock’s bed, naked from the waist up as Sherlock stroked his chest. The feel of the warm skin, the light covering of hair, some golden but more grey and the distinct, strong smell of male arousal.

Sherlock considered for a microsecond what furniture John’s room most needed for him to fix this precious memory to. He settled on a copy of their sofa and laid John out naked on it, his dick in his hand, his eyes glued to Sherlock’s own and dark with lust as his other hand reached out for Sherlock. Sherlock remembered the way he had said his name, gently, sweetly but a little desperately. “Please, Sherlock”.

It was getting too much. Sounds, smells and images began to flood into his mind, too fast to be processed properly. Sherlock began to panic. He wasn’t going to be able to remember it all, fix it all down and he had to, _had to._ Because he knew, this was never going to happen again, not with John, not with anyone and Sherlock had to keep it, to be able to return to this moment for the rest of his life.

He had known it could never happen again the moment he had come in John’s glorious, adoring hand. As the orgasm had jolted through his whole body and his head had been thrown back, his back arching away from the bed, his mind had become a blank nothingness. At that second he realised he had lost more than he had gained, something more precious to him than even his John. His ability to think.

Just as Sherlock relived the exquisite moment, he became aware that the smell of the tea on the table was becoming stronger and that there was a noise from downstairs, someone knocking on the front door. He walked out of the room, leaving the door ajar and began to run down the stairs. He realised the voice was bringing him back to reality as he left the Mind Palace behind.

“Sherlock, are you alright in there? You um, left in a hurry. Did I hurt you? Have I done something wrong? I’m sorry. I’ve, er, made you tea”.

 


	2. Sherlock's Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we see the developments in Sherlock and John's relationship from John's point of view. We find out a bit more about what has happened between them and why but the two boys are still as far apart as they always were. But not for ever..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for giving The Room of Light such a warm reception and your lovely comments. I hadn't intended there to be chapters but here we are seeing things from the more down to earth point of view of John. There will be a third chapter too, I promise I won't leave John in this state, poor love.

John lay back on the bed and grinned. This had not been how he'd seen the day panning out. In fact, this was not how he had seen his life panning out but he was bloody glad it had gone this way. Smoothing his hands over the off-white, cotton duvet cover he looked around the room, Sherlock’s bedroom. Of course he had been in it before, many times, checking on Sherlock when he was sick or injured and that time Irene Adler had drugged him. He also regularly came in to gather up the dirty plates, glasses and mugs strewn around the room when they ran out of clean ones.

To his right he considered the large, brightly coloured Periodic Table hanging on the wall. That, at least, was one thing he and Sherlock had in common, an appreciation of the simple elegance of this classification of elements, although Sherlock knew them better than he did, as he'd given it little thought since finishing medical school. Still, to him it gave the room a homely feel.

Running his hand over his naked torso, he felt the sticky, still warm, remnants of what had just happened. He closed his eyes. At last.

At last.

In all of John’s imaginings, he had not seen this moment happening quite this easily, quite so _naturally_. Well, easily if you forgot the last 2 years of his fancying of Sherlock to the point of aching pain and his constant need to look after the ridiculous, amazing, infuriating, beautiful man.

One minute they had been panting, running up the 17 stairs to their flat, laughing and full of the adrenaline from the chase of the Bank’s fake security guard as he legged it away with the diamonds, straight into Lestrade’s waiting armed division. The next, Sherlock had stopped in their doorway, leaned down and kissed him on the lips, warm and surprisingly fervent.

John sighed gently to himself. He had been surprised Sherlock had kissed him, but only because he had always expected that he would have be the one to pluck up the courage to cross this fine line between them. He had also been surprised that Sherlock was such a damn fine kisser, considering his confessed lack of expertise in the area. John would like to do some more of that kissing now actually. Bloody hell, where was Sherlock. No-one takes that long to go to the loo.

He was getting cold now, the fine sheen of sweat evaporating off his skin. He reached down the edge of the bed and grabbed the nearest thing he could find to clean himself. It turned out to be Sherlock’s discarded purple shirt. No, maybe not that. Rummaging around again, John found his own favourite grey jumper, the cabled one. He wiped it over his stomach, slightly surprised at the amount of ejaculate he had produced, but then it had been a while. Propping up a pillow on the wooden headboard he half sat up and climbed in under the duvet to keep warm, resting his hands behind his head contentedly.

Yes, the kisses had been lovely. Tender, gentle and long. Sherlock had leaned into John’s neck and whispered “John, I am somewhat out of my depth here. Please tell me how we should proceed”. John had grinned back at him and removed his own jumper “You’re going to kiss my chest Sherlock and, if it is alright with you, I shall remove your shirt and return the favour. We might need to lie down”. John had hesitated for a fraction at this point. Although Sherlock had started this, John wanted to be sure he understood where this was going. Sherlock had nodded and beamed at John “I know just the place”. Taking John by the hand, he had led them into his bedroom.

Once there, Sherlock had seemed a little hesitant suddenly “John, I…” but John had shushed him with another long kiss, all the time stroking Sherlock’s back, up to his arms and then to the back of his neck, pulling in to make the kiss even deeper. Sherlock had responded by sliding his hands along John’s jaw, holding his face firmly and kissing John back with a small groan. Pulling apart, John had yanked his jumper over his head as he had promised and began to undo the buttons of Sherlock’s favourite purple shirt. His fingers brushed against the pale, taught skin that slid over a sinewy, defined chest and John realised he was holding his breath

“Sherlock, you’re beautiful” he had looked up, smiling into those entrancing, dazzling eyes and for a moment glimpsed the man behind them, gazing back at him with lust.

“Would it be ok if I..? “ John gestured to Sherlock’s belt and trouser button “By all means, John”.

The sound of the water running in the shower broke into John’s thoughts. Was Sherlock having a shower? He frowned slightly, hit by an image of Sherlock washing the smells and evidence of John off himself. Suddenly, John wondered if this had all been such a good idea. There had been reasons, good reasons, why he had never given into his attraction before and made a pass at Sherlock. He had too much to lose. Their friendship was too important to him, this life, this home that they had created together was too precious to John Watson to risk losing.

Maybe he was reading this all wrong. Maybe this wasn’t finally the start of a new type of relationship for himself and Sherlock, a new intimacy where feelings could be shared openly and honestly, the one he has fantasised about. Maybe this was a disaster! Sherlock may have just felt he owed John something or, or had just had _an itch to scratch_.

Agitated, he got out of the bed, all the previous delight and excitement gone. He looked around the room again and just saw the chaos of Sherlock, the scattered books, clothes and papers, the mouldering experiments strewn across the window sill and the egocentric judo certificate over the bed with Sherlock’s name on it in Japanese. He opened the bedroom door and clearly heard the sound now of Sherlock taking a long shower. John felt his temper rise.

He padded up to the kitchen, musing, and automatically turned on the kettle to make tea. As it boiled, he stared blankly at the green tiles in front of him trying to work out what he should do next. Should he talk to Sherlock? Tell him it was ok, that it had all been a big mistake? That he understood. That things would be….. fine.

As he poured the hot water onto the loose leaves in the teapot, it suddenly occurred to John that maybe he was misreading the situation altogether. He believed Sherlock to be sexually inexperienced and he'd certainly called upon John to take the lead. John had been very aware of this and had tried to make sure Sherlock was always comfortable with what they were doing, always consenting and they hadn’t gone that far, although what had happened between them had been more than John had ever hoped for and had felt wonderful. But had it been wonderful for Sherlock? Had John pushed him too far? Had he hurt him, frightened him? John’s temper abated and his heart sank.

There was only one way for him to find out. That was to ask.

He knocked on the bathroom door

“Sherlock, are you alright in there? You um, left in a hurry. Did I hurt you? Have I done something wrong? I’m sorry. I’ve, err, made you tea”.


	3. The Living Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John are finally having a conversation about Sherlock's decision that he never wants to be physical with John again. There are revelations about his past and a very Sherlock way of looking at things, but also an unexpected declaration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is beginning to take on a life of its own! What started as a 1-shot has evolved and apparently there is even a 4th chapter coming. I did some research into the real-life sexual experiences of diagnosed sociopaths and the colour-blind analogy used here comes from those real people and their stories.

Sherlock came out of the bathroom silently, wearing his dressing gown and black pajamas. He took the offered mug of tea “Thank you John” and looked at John’s face. Confusion and concern, under laid with anger, he deduced. Also, quite naked.

“Are you OK, Sherlock? I mean, you went off very suddenly and I thought we were…” John trailed off, not sure what he thought they were. “ Did I hurt you? Do something wrong?”

“No. I am quite unhurt, thank you. I needed to visit my Mind Palace”

“Oh… um, why? Don’t you visit your Mind Palace when you need to solve something? What were you, er, solving?”

“No, John” Sherlock responded calmly “I visit my Mind Palace when I am _remembering_. It is simply a memory tool. I need to ensure I accurately remembered what had just occurred between us. Also, I felt the quite strong need to be alone”.

“Oh. Right” John responded. He was none the wiser but even more insulted than when he had thought Sherlock had just gone to wash the John-ness off himself. His chin went up and his jaw clenched slightly. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, suddenly tired. “Look Sherlock, we need to talk. About what just happened”.

“Yes we can talk, and I need to tell you that it won’t be happening again”.

John looked at the man silently for a millisecond before he erupted. “What the _fuck_ , Sherlock Holmes? Two years. Two years I have waited for what we just did. Two years of, of trailing around after you like a lap dog, looking after you, cleaning up your messes here and you when you’re in a mess and wanting you _every single second_ of it. And now, you want to tell me that’s it! The best thing that ever happened to me and that’s it!”

“John, please there is no need to shout, I just…”

“No need to shout, no need to shout, you insufferable, pompous arse. Was this all just a _fucking game_ to you, were you _bored_?” The last word dripped off John’s tongue as cold and slippery as ice.

This was going very badly, Sherlock thought, this was not going the way he had planned. Things rarely did when other people’s feelings got involved. He sighed. “Please John, I’m sorry. Could we, maybe sit down and talk?” John stormed to his chair in the living room and sat down, holding his head in his hands. It was now dark outside and it was cold in the living room. Sherlock took a moment to close the curtains and turned on the white floor lamp. He sat down in his black chair facing the livid John. He’d had conversations like this one before, with people who had been angry, hurt and disappointed with him.

“Would you like something to wear?” he asked John, who seemed to have forgotten he was naked. Without a word, John stormed into the bathroom, returned wrapped in his own mouse-coloured, fluffy dressing gown and sat down. He stared at Sherlock, waiting, his tea left on the side table going cold. Sherlock sipped his.

“John, please do not misunderstand me. I enjoyed what we just did immensely. It was all my idea, I wanted it and have done for quite some considerable time. I was unaware that you too felt amenable to the idea and maybe you would be gratified to learn that was my first time with another person to have climaxed”.

John tilted his head to the left slightly, regarding Sherlock. He still had the feeling he was being played but this confession seemed honest “Really? But, I thought you had had other, er encounters. When you were younger?”

“I have, a few. However none of them resulted in an orgasm. It was not what I had expected.” John was dumbstruck. His anger began to fade, wondering what kind of people Sherlock had had these encounters with that they had been selfish enough to not ensure their partner’s satisfaction.

“When I was 18 I developed strong feelings for the sister of one of the people with whom I shared a house at University. She came to visit him regularly, travelling from Cambridge where she was studying astrophysics. She was intelligent and an introspective personality. We talked in the kitchen and communal dining room. She too found it difficult to get on with other people, which is why she left her own college during the weekends. I found her fascinating, and would often think of her when she was not there. However, I did not find her sexually attractive. I told her so one day while we were discussing physics. She became rather upset and stormed off. Her brother appeared shortly afterwards, shouting about leading people on and proceeded to punch me repeatedly. I spent the night in hospital with concussion. Until I met you, she has been the only person I have had such strong feelings about”.

“What was her name?”

“Katherine”

“Did you ever see her again?”

“No. She stopped visiting and at the end of the academic year, I moved back into halls”.

“I am not entirely sure why you are telling me this Sherlock?”

“You need to understand how I feel about you John. You need to understand that I have only felt this way about 2 people in my life. And you are different to Katherine. I do find you attractive”.

“Thank you. I find you attractive too. But I still don’t understand why any of this means we can’t be .. physical together again. Surely if you have feelings for me and find me attractive, that is all the more reason for us to have a, ah, relationship. Is it because I am a man? I mean, I’m not gay either, this is a first for me too”.

“Not at all. I have had a number of sexual experiences with men, and some with women too. People in the past have found me attractive and for a number of reasons, I have engaged in sexual acts with them. Sometimes just the once, sometimes for a number of weeks. Most of them I found attractive too. One or two were simply expeditious to me”.

John was astounded “And none of them, not one of them took the time to look after you? To make sure you were happy? Satisfied? The bastards, every last one of them”.

“I am getting to my point John. The difference between those people and you is _my_ feelings. I am a high-functioning sociopath, you’re a doctor, and you must have some idea of what that means. I am, effectively, colour-blind when it comes to feelings. What others feel I mostly experience as a low-lying brownish sensation, all things having the same effect, or rather lack of effect, on me. I can only truly appreciate one colour or feeling, green, shall we say. And you John, are green. In fact, a rather beautiful emerald green. I believe that it is the combination of my feelings for you, combined with the fact that I also find you sexually attractive that resulted in my climax”.

This was typical Sherlock, John thought. Only he could dissect something as nebulous and unscientific as emotions but be poetic at the same time. “I think I am beginning to understand, but, did you not enjoy your orgasm? Most people find it rather addictive and want to experience it over and over again”.

“I am not ‘most people’ John” John grinned his agreement as Sherlock continued “It was …… exquisite. But I was lost. I don’t ever wish to be lost again”

“Lost??”

“Yes. As a blind person develops superior hearing skills, my lack of emotions has allowed me the space to develop my other faculties, namely my mind. It is who I am, the very definition of me, of Sherlock Holmes. Where other people have their love and their friends and their families, I have my mind. And when you took me in your warm, gentle hand and brought me to climax, I lost my mind, it was gone. I couldn’t think or reason. If I lose that, John, what am I?”

John was astounded and profoundly moved. Again. Maybe he should have expected this. How did he ever think that the most amazing man he had ever met would have an ordinary reaction to something as wonderful as an orgasm? He paused for a moment, making sure he was very clear in what he wanted to say.

“It feels like that to us all, Sherlock. If it is very good. Not always, but if we are lucky. It felt like that to me today too. If you had stayed though, if you had felt able to trust me and not run off like that, I would have held you and helped you come back. I would always help you come back to yourself. Because that is the man I want”.

“How could you possible want me, John? I am the most ridiculous person. I will use you and manipulate you. It is what I do. I will drug you and poison you, lead you into dangerous situations and let you take care of me. I have done it before. That is why I cannot allow you to enter into a relationship with me. I do not want to do those things to happen to you, not you John. I will not hurt you”.

John suddenly stood and moved to Sherlock’s chair. His emotions fleeted across his face; doubt, concern then decision. He leaned into Sherlock and kissed him, ever so gently on his beautiful lips. Sherlock was surprised to find that John’s face was wet, a single tear moving past his nose “Sherlock, you say that your feelings are a sludge of brown, all blended together and amorphous. But what you just said, that is very clear to me. The desire to put someone else first, before yourself, at whatever cost to you,that is love. It is a clear, crystal sharp perfect blue. And I know because I love you too. I have for the longest time. Maybe we won’t be able to make it work but let’s at least give it a try. I am not asking you for anything more than tomorrow. We will take it one day at a time, hmm? And I promise, I will always take great care to make sure that you remain, always, Sherlock Holmes”.

Sherlock was astounded. John loved him. His John loved him. He was rendered speechless. He simply nodded, took John’s hand in his and gazed up into the eyes above him. They were clear, crystal sharp blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A number of the details about the furniture and clothes in this story were cross-checked at the website http://www.sherlockology.com/. My thanks to who ever is behind the site and their devotion to detail.


	4. Their Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the confusion, disappointment and a row, there can be only one thing now, time to make up.

John leaned down, closed his eyes and kissed Sherlock very, very gently. As he stood straight again, Sherlock caught his hand and they gazed into one another’s eyes for a long second. John smiled.

“I am a little confused, Sherlock. I know what I would like to do now but am unsure..” His sentence was cut short by Sherlock suddenly standing, placing his hands on each side of John’s face and kissing him with the deepest, most passionate kiss he had ever experienced. Sherlock’s tongue pushed past John’s lips and caressed his own. As they kissed, Sherlock’s left hand pressed to the back of his neck while the right fell to the small of John’s back and pulled them tightly together. When they parted John was shell-shocked.

“You know Sherlock” he stammered “Sex doesn’t have to always be about orgasms. There are many other ways of making someone feel good that doesn’t have to result in an orgasm”. Sherlock considered this statement for a moment, his eyes locked on John’s “Continue”

“Well, you said that you enjoyed what we did this afternoon but that you didn’t want to orgasm again. I would very much like to be intimate with you again, but maybe we can stick to those things you do enjoy”. He momentarily wondered if he had misjudged some of Sherlock’s other sexual partners. Possibly he was not the first to have had this conversation with the man.

Sherlock didn’t answer for a moment, still gazing into the blue-black of John’s eyes. He thought about his earlier decision and whether he should reconsider. He quickly decided that he had not changed his mind but would concede that this suggestion might be acceptable.

“And how will I know you will stick to your word?

“Oh. I, er, I promise we will stop anything you are not comfortable with. You only have to say”

“What shall I say?” John considered this for a moment, his mind full of safe words and possibilities and concluded “Just ‘stop’”.

“But what if you are, too _carried away_?”

“It doesn’t matter Sherlock. Stop always means stop. Whatever. And that goes for both of us. You’re not the only one in unfamiliar territory. Agreed?”

“Agreed” and with that, John pulled Sherlock into his arms again and kissed him, gently again on the mouth and the neck and at the tiny v of skin visible above the top button of Sherlock’s pyjamas. John took Sherlock’s hand “Let’s go back to bed” he grinned.

Back in Sherlock’s bedroom he untied the blue dressing gown belt and slipped his hand under the black pyjamas, holding Sherlock by the waist as he slowly undid each button of the top. With each button, he kissed the newly exposed skin and gently stroked the strong chest with his fingertips. Sherlock visibly relaxed and let his head fall to the top of John’s and the firm fingers became flattened palms over his chest. Sherlock responded by sliding both his hands into the front of John’s dressing gown and dropping it from his shoulders. Their earlier encounter had been frantic and passionate, this time both men wanted to take their time and savour the experience and each other.

Sherlock placed his hands on John’s firm biceps, feeling the strong, defined muscles flex as John stroked him. He made light, feathery touches on the back of John’s neck, who stopped what he was doing and leaned into Sherlock with a groan.

Unexpectedly, Sherlock pushed John to the bed, lying down next to him. His hands roamed over John’s chest and stomach, up his sides and came to a rest on John’s jawline. Again, they gazed into each other’s eyes for a long, long moment, each taking the time to acknowledge what was finally happening between them and its importance to them. It was John that broke the gaze, looking at the long, lean body next to him. In a voice dripping with lust he said “Tell me what you like, Sherlock”.

“My back” he answered “I like to have my back touched”. “Then roll over, my beautiful delight”

John began with feather light touches using just one finger, skimming the edges of Sherlock’s shoulder blades, the tops of his shoulders, and the back of his neck. As Sherlock relaxed under his touch, he be began to stroke more firmly with his whole hand over the muscles and bones, trailing one finger slowly, slowly down his spine from top to the very bottom. To John’ delight, this produced a long, deep groan from Sherlock so he repeated the motion again, in reverse. By the glow of the single desk lamp he admired the rise and fall of the curve of Sherlock’s exquisite arse, with its deeply cut side grooves and light covering of golden hair. He continued his stroking of Sherlock’s back for a number of minutes, making circles and symbols in different spots, all the time rewarded with deeper and deeper groans.

“May I touch your arse” he asked “Oh yes please” came the deep, melodious response and so John continued his stroking of those beautiful cheeks until Sherlock was a mere puddle of a man, producing nonsensical sighs and squeaks of delight.

John became aware that Sherlock was visibly pulling himself together despite his fluid state. He rolled over onto his side and kissed John deeply, straddling John and pressing into the full length of his body. Sherlock then began to inch his way down John’s body, slowly kissing and nibbling and stroking every inch until he reached John’s swollen dick. Glancing back up the adored body, Sherlock locked eyes with John for a moment before placing his mouth around just the top of John’s dick, eliciting the most glorious groan. As he teased and swirled John with his mouth Sherlock inhaled the scent of this most intimate of places, revelling in the smells and sounds of John. He transferred his loving attention to John’s balls, placing his nose between the top of his thigh and ball sac, licking and nibbling, running his tongue over John’s balls and down over his frenulum, pressing firmly. He returned his mouth to John’s now very hard dick and took the whole of it in his mouth, sucking and enjoying the feel of the soft skin and the taste of pre-cum. John was making deep, guttural noises of pleasure, his hands reaching down for Sherlock.

“God Sherlock, that’s just so unngh” John managed. “Sherlock, I want to look at you”

Staying straddled over John’s lap, Sherlock took him by the hands and lifted John up to sitting. For a brief moment, they just looked into each other’s eyes. John wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s back and looking down could see just how very aroused his love was.

“May I touch you? Show me how you like it” He whispered. Sherlock said nothing but took John’s hand and wrapped it around his dick and left his holding John’s. As Sherlock closed his eyes, he moved both their hands slowly and carefully up and down. John was mesmerised, watching the look of peace and happiness on the other man’s face. He stroked Sherlock’s back and couldn’t help himself; “Oh God Sherlock, you are so gorgeous. You do know that don’t you. Just looking at you like this, you’re just beautiful, perfect” Sherlock let out a deep throated groan so John kept talking “You are. Simply amazing. Your face, your body, just glorious”. Sherlock let his head fall back and let out a strangled “Oh John”. Then, quietly, “Stop”.

Carefully John removed his hand. He had been expecting this, had seen the conflicting emotions of lust and tension, pleasure and discomfort flicker across Sherlock’s face. John said nothing but kissed him and wrapping both arms around the slender man, pulled him tightly into him.

“Thank you” murmured Sherlock “Its ok, you don’t need to thank me, I told you I would look after you. Whatever you want, whatever. I just want to make you happy”.

Sherlock wrapped his hand around John’s dick, smoothing the soft, taught skin up and down and whispered into his ear in a low, dirty voice “Then come for me John, Come for me. That will make me very happy” and as the two men held onto each other, that is exactly what John did, in great sodding, waves that made John’s whole body twitch and shake as he growled “Ugh Sherlock. I love you!”

They clung together for a few moments until John realised his legs were going numb from Sherlock sitting on them and they moved back to lying down on the cool, fresh cotton of the bed and John held Sherlock in his arms and stroked his arms and back, crooning compliments in his ear until they both fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My research into sociopaths ( I had to do it, Sherlock told me to!) found a common theme that for many, their sexual pleasure often comes in being the best at giving orgasms and that their partner has the best possible time. I suspect Sherlock might be along these lines. Lucky John.


	5. The Room of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock both revisit the night before in their own way and begin to look to the future. Sherlock does some re-organising of his Mind Palace
> 
> "He wondered if John was protecting his heart or trying to reach in and snatch it away. Sherlock considered all that had been said between them the previous evening and concluded that John was going to do both."

When John woke up badly in need of the loo, it was still dark. He carefully slid from the bed, anxious not to wake the peaceful looking Sherlock next to him. The bedside clock showed 3.43 am, still very early and having relieved himself, John snuggled back into the warm bed, next to his _lover_. He said the word to himself in a silly French accent, smiling at the pure joy of the day’s events. Sherlock and sex. Of course Sherlock was different to other people when it came to sex, he was different to everyone else in so many ways, why would his sexual needs and desires be ordinary?

All John wanted was to make him happy. What did make him happy? He remembered Sherlock’s desire to be stroked and smoothed, coming alive underneath John’s gentle, soothing fingers. Sherlock’s response to being talked to, his groans and held breaths as John deepened his voice and whispered into Sherlock’s ear. How Sherlock had revelled in the way John smelled, especially that very particular scent as he had buried his nose in John’s balls.

John was beginning to make the connections, Sherlock had needed all his senses stimulated, his mind engaged. Of course the great Sherlock Holmes had needed sex for the mind as well as the body! Sleepily John began to consider all the other ways he would have fun engaging the great Sherlock Holmes. He rolled onto his side and lay his hand on Sherlock’s naked chest, over his heart. He was already making himself a little bit hard remembering Sherlock’s responses to his kisses. He imagined himself teasing Sherlock all day with suggestive text messages and phone calls, small, hidden touches as they examined a crime scene until Sherlock’s mind was overtaken by thoughts of John. Or maybe he would suggest they restrict the senses, isolating and heightening one at a time with the use of restraints and blindfolds. He fell back to sleep as he envisioned himself standing over Sherlock in his old fatigues as he took Sherlock in hand, playing at who was really in charge around here.

 

*                *                *

 

Drifting up through the haze of sleep, Sherlock saw the images of John, naked and crying out, fade away. For a moment he was bereft; it had all just been a dream. Then he became aware of his right hand holding John’s as it covered Sherlock’s heart. He wondered if John was protecting his heart or trying to reach in and snatch it away. Sherlock considered all that had been said between them the previous evening and concluded that John was going to do both.

There was grey light filtering in through the cream curtains although from its intensity and angle Sherlock deduced it was still very early morning. For a few moments he lay peacefully, listening to the gentle puffs John was making as he slept and the sounds of London beginning to wake. He decided to visit his Mind Palace. He had some reorganising to do.

Pushing open the door, Sherlock was greeted by Redbeard, all waggy tail and bounding enthusiasm. Sherlock dropped to his knees to kiss and pet the dog, rubbing him behind the ears. This time, the hallway was lined with framed pictures including one of him and John at a crime scene, followed by one of Sherlock and Mycroft standing formally but side by side, just touching at the elbow. Walking past the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock opened the door to the garden and let Redbeard out for a run. He then began to slowly walk up the stairs, trailing his long fingers over the smooth, warm, wooden bannister as he climbed to the fourth floor.

When he reached the door to John’s room, he realised he had left it open and unlocked on his last visit. As he stepped in, the light had changed from a warm, golden glow to the crisp, sharp blue-white light of a sunny June morning. The bed, desk, gun and medical bag remained in place. Sherlock moved John’s chair away from the window and faced it into the middle of the room. The very essence of John was filling the room, Sherlock could smell him and hear him breathing. He turned to the sofa on his right. All along the wooden panelled wall behind it were frames containing moving images of the first time Sherlock and John had touched and caressed and made each other come. Sherlock had no desire to lose these images and memories. It may no longer be the last time they had se… Sherlock stopped and corrected himself … made love, but it would always be the first time and Sherlock knew he would treasure that and want to remember it always.

Suddenly, there was John himself, sat, naked on the sofa beaming up at Sherlock. The light shining in the window glinted off his hair, cast shadows under his cheekbones and floodlit the scar on his left shoulder. Sherlock smiled back at him.

“I like it here Sherlock”.

“Good, but what are you doing here? I didn’t bring you”.

“Of course you did, this is your Memory Palace. I am either here because you chose to remember me er, like this” John waved a hand indicating his nakedness “or possibly I am leaking through from your subconscious. But, as I am here, you need to make some changes. That” John pointed at the neatly made single bed “has to go. Now.”

The single bed transformed into Sherlock’s own king-size, covered in a cloud-like, fluffy duvet and loads of pillows. “But the jumper can stay. It’s my favourite” grinned John. The grey cabled jumper reappeared over the end of the bed. “C’mon Sherlock, come back to real me. It’s time for some breakfast. I’ll make you poached eggs”.

Sherlock turned to leave John’s Room. He left the door wide open and as he went downstairs the crystalline light from the window flooded every inch of his Mind Palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. This universe seems to have developed a life of its own and I will definitely be returning to see how our boys are getting on. If there is something you would like to see happen to them, leave a comment and I will do my best. All comments and concrit welcomed.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fanfic so please be gentle with me. I wanted to explore what John would represent to Sherlock in his Mind Palace. I hope to re examine the experience from John's point of view too.
> 
> I am [sherlockssister1](http://sherlockssister1.tumblr.com/) on tumblr - come and say Hi


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